


Forruhesturm

by AnaliseGrey



Series: Along the Way [13]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb angst, Forced Subservience, M/M, Slavery, Songbird - Freeform, Spoilers, Timestamp, caleb pov, caleb's backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-14 18:41:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18953545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaliseGrey/pseuds/AnaliseGrey
Summary: All the worst days of Caleb’s life have started normally.The day Ikithon calls him, Astrid, and Eodwulf in to tell them they’ve been chosen for special training.The day he kills his parents.The day he wakes up in the asylum.Every one of those days began as any other- the sun rose and fell, the world turning with no care for the disaster to come; nothing to indicate the ruin to befall him.The day Mollymauk is taken starts the same way.





	Forruhesturm

**Author's Note:**

> _Forruhesturm_ : Pre-Calm-Storm or the fugue state between a death and the funeral. 
> 
> This is the first half of Songbird, as seen from Caleb's point of view.

All the worst days of Caleb’s life have started normally.

The day Ikithon calls him, Astrid, and Eodwulf in to tell them they’ve been selected for special training.

The day he kills his parents.

The day he wakes up in the asylum.

Every one of those days began as any other- the sun rose and fell, the world turning with no care for the disaster to come; nothing to indicate the ruin to befall him.

The day Mollymauk is taken starts the same way.

Caleb wakes warm and content, the sun slanting through the curtain into his and Mollymauk’s room at the inn. He’s a light sleeper, and it’s unusual for Molly to be awake first; he must have been more tired than he’d thought the day before because Molly is already up and mostly dressed, just pulling his coat on as Caleb blinks his eyes open. Molly’s jewelry jingles faintly as he moves and sends prisms of color bouncing around the room as the sun finds the charms and gems in his horns and ears. Molly catches his eye and smiles, shrugging his coat on the rest of the way and settling it on his shoulders before coming to Caleb’s side, kneeling on the mattress to lean down and plant a kiss on the top of Caleb’s head.

“It’s early yet, love, and we’ve nowhere to be. You were up late, why don’t you try to get more sleep if you can.” Molly’s voice is soft, fond, and it makes something warm curl in Caleb’s chest. “I won’t be gone long. Just stretching my legs.”

Caleb melts into the nest of blankets, relaxed, as Molly strokes his hair then stands, grabbing his swords and tucking them into his belt before leaving the room with a flip of his tail and softly closing the door behind himself.

The morning passes normally, or as normally as anything ever does where the Mighty Nein are concerned, and later Caleb will think that there must have been _something_ , some kind of sign, or feeling of ill-portent to indicate that something had gone so horribly wrong, but there’s nothing. It’s not until lunch has come and gone that the first gentle stirrings of unease prick in the back of his mind.

“Have any of you seen Mollymauk?”

Nobody's seen him since that morning, and the unease grows, vines of worry crawling from Caleb’s mind down to his stomach to twist and tighten. The group spreads through town to search, and a few hours later they reconvene at the inn with accounts of a purple tiefling being led somewhere by a couple of Crownsguard that morning; when they check with the local garrison, they don't know anything about it.

The others are still talking around him, but Caleb can only focus on the fact that Molly’s gone, and they have no idea where he is or who took him.

Days of anxious searching turn to a week, then two. Three weeks later they pool their resources and have someone try to scry for Molly, but the man, apologetic as he is, isn’t able to get a solid bead on their missing friend. He assures them it doesn’t mean Molly is dead, just that he can’t find him. Jester thanks him as Beau walks away vibrating with anger, and the rest of the Nein follow.

Another week goes by, and they get the smallest of leads almost purely by chance- a group of slavers with people that pass through the local area on scouting missions.

While it’s wonderful to finally have a lead, Caleb tosses and turns that night, dreaming of Molly in chains, broken, blank-eyed and _empty_ , and he discovers a new depth to his self-loathing at the thought that death might be preferable.

They catch wind that someone nearby might know something, and Beau’s voice hardens to diamond sharpness when she says she’ll handle it. The way she stalks off puts Caleb in mind of a large cat on the hunt.

She returns that evening, spattered in blood, her knuckles bruised, but a grim, satisfied smile on her face. She doesn’t know where Molly is precisely, but she knows who took him, and more importantly, she knows _why_ . Caleb feels a spark flare to life within him, an angry, simmering heat as Beauregard describes her ‘conversation’- a man looking for a companion, something pretty, decorative. Not some _one_ . Some _t_ _hing_. A pet, not a person.

And the scouts spotted Molly.

The slavers have a compound, but nobody knows where. There are whispers of how they operate- a compound where people are brought in and broken shells taken out, ready for the auction block or to fulfill special orders. At least one high-level cleric is on-site, a worshiper of the Strife Emperor. Caleb feels his blood run cold with the implications.

Their friend is who-knows-where, being prepared for delivery, and the group decides to take the only course of action they appear to have available. They'll find the man who ordered the companion, kill him, take his place, and hope to the gods that if they still can’t find Molly before then, that he won’t be broken beyond hope when he’s delivered right to them.

They find help along the way, a firbolg named Caduceus. He readily agrees to help them, but when Beau offhandedly mentions the slavers’ cleric, Caduceus goes still and the air around them noticeably cools.

“I think,” he says, slow and calm as he always is, though with something in his voice Caleb doesn’t want to look at too closely. “Yeah, I think we’d better deal with that.”

Another week and a half goes by and with a combination of skill and pure ridiculous luck they find the client’s mansion, and it’s absurdly simple to take it. The man is wealthy, but alone. He’s a high-powered wizard who values his privacy and independence, and though going up against him makes Caleb’s skin crawl and stomach turn, the man isn’t remotely expecting them and they catch him by surprise. Beau stuns him early on, and it’s short work from there until he’s dead, laying bloody on the floor.

Caduceus takes him out back and turns him to compost, which Caleb is perfectly happy not to witness, but now there’s not much to do but wait. There’s no telling how long it will be before they receive word that Molly is ready, and so they take the time to plan. After some discussion, it’s decided Caleb will take the place of the man when the delivery happens, wearing his face and finishing the transaction to take possession of his new ‘pet’. The others will trail the slavers back to the compound and take it down with extreme prejudice while Caleb stays at the mansion with Molly.

Caleb doesn’t say that if Molly is deemed ready for delivery that it means they’ve broken him. He doesn’t say that whatever is left of Molly, if they get him back, may not be salvageable, may be broken in a way they don’t have the capacity to fix. He doesn’t say that he’s intimately familiar with such methods, that using those kinds of skills, by the time you’re done with a person they’re willing to tell you anything, do anything you want, anything to please you just to make it _stop_.

There’s a lot he doesn’t say.

Another few weeks of living in the mansion, Caleb’s stomach in constant knots over what might be happening, whether it will be enough, whether Molly can be saved, and it’s both a relief and a stab to the heart when a courier arrives, bearing an anonymous letter with a delivery date a week away and a reminder of the remaining amount due on the account.

They spend the week preparing as much as they can, Nott and Fjord going to nearby towns to buy potions just in case, the clerics praying for help and guidance. Beau trains until she physically can’t anymore and Jester sits on her to make her rest. And Caleb-

Caleb stares at himself in a mirror in the master bedroom, wearing the guise of the man they’ve killed, and works to school his expression into what he recalls of Ikithon- cool, unconcerned, exuding the dead certainty that he will be obeyed because nobody would dare do otherwise. It makes him feel ill each time, seeing that look in the mirror, but he perseveres; it’s important, absolutely _essential_ he gets it right. There’s no room for error.

He stares at himself and thinks- _really_ thinks. He’s been dancing around this for awhile now, this choice he has to make, but desperately doesn’t want to. He thought he’d have more time, would be able to find a different solution, but in the end the Universe had decided for him, deciding he’d waited long enough. There’s very little in the world that’s better at making you realize how important something is than taking that thing away.

Than taking that _person_ away.

He couldn’t decide and so the decision was taken from his hands. He knows that as much as he would do anything not to have done what he’s done, to remake his past and have his parents alive and well- he knows now he’d do the same or worse to have Molly back, to have him safe and in his arms again, however selfish that makes him. So he prepares, and he practices.

The day comes, and Caleb takes the part of him that’s babbling in distress and locks it away tight in the back of his mind where he can’t hear it. He will do this, do this for Molly, and once he has him, and he knows Molly‘s safe, then Caleb can worry about everything else.

At the appointed time, a cart rolls up to the property, pulling to the front steps and Caleb, wearing the face and clothes of the dead client, greets them at the door. The men carry a box off the back of the cart draped in a shimmery fabric, and his heart hammers in his chest, knowing that Mollymauk is inside. He turns on his heel with an imperious gesture, with the full expectation that they’ll follow where he leads, and he’s not disappointed. They trail him into the sitting room where the fire crackles pleasantly in the fireplace, and he directs them to place the box on the throw rug. One of them holds out a hand expectantly, and Caleb lets his lip curl in disdain.

“Take them out, please, I’m sure you don’t expect me to take my goods sight unseen.” He almost chokes on Ikithon’s voice as it issues from his own mouth, but he knows the voice inside-out, how it conveys ire, wrath, irritation, dismay, all without changing volume; it’s too perfect _not_ to use.

They shrug, one of them reaching to yank the cloth off the box, and Caleb steels himself for whatever he’s about to see.

Inside the box- no, inside the _cage_ \- is Molly, kneeling on a cushion, head down, body draped in silk, a matching blindfold over his eyes. He’s wearing jewelry Caleb doesn’t recognize, dangling from his horns and ears, and a burnished metal collar low on his throat.

One of the men unlocks and opens the front of the cage and Caleb barely holds back a startled jump when the other reaches down and raps at the top of the cage. “C’mon then.”

Molly moves, shuffling carefully forward, still on his knees, and Caleb’s heart aches to see him bound as the handlers grab him by the arms and pull him the rest of the way out. Molly’s tail, also decorated with heavy-looking metal bands, curls demurely, settling in a gentle curve around his knees. Caleb has to remind himself again and again that they need these men alive to follow as he watches Molly tremble slightly but hold position.

Caleb reaches down to remove the blindfold, to pull it off, and Molly jumps with a sudden intake of breath, though he freezes at a clipped ‘ _Be still_.’ from one of the handlers. Caleb tugs the blindfold off and Molly seems to shrink, shoulders curving in, head dipping down incrementally, and Caleb knows forced subservience when he sees it.

He grabs Molly’s chin, forcing himself to be rough, and tilts his face up toward the firelight, makes himself to look over Molly’s features as if he doesn’t know them by heart, as if he doesn’t have the feel of Molly’s skin stored in his fingertips. Molly moves with him, unresisting, keeping his gaze fixed downward, though he trembles harder when Caleb hums in consideration, running a thumb over the side of Molly’s face, tracing the outer edge of an inked peacock feather. He pulls his hand back to reach for the coin pouch on his belt, and Molly lets out a shaky breath as his hand pulls away. He just needs to maintain control a little longer. They’re almost there.

“Excellent work, gentlemen, thank you. Here is the remainder of your payment. I’ll contact you if I have further need of your services.” He hands over the pouch, and the two men nod their heads at him before picking up the now empty cage and carrying it out. He waits until he hears the front door close, until he hears Nott’s voice in his head telling him the men are clear and they’re following after, to drop to his knees in front of Molly.

Molly is full-on shaking now, his breath hitching with the tears Caleb can see rolling down his face, and Caleb can’t help but reach out again, brushing his knuckles over Molly’s cheek, wiping away some of them away.

 

“Molly?”

  


**Author's Note:**

> Want to ask a question, yell, or just say hello? Come find me on tumblr at [Analisegrey](http://analisegrey.tumblr.com/) or on twitter at the same handle!


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